


Fic:  XLR, Neon Trees

by s0ckpupp3t



Category: Neon Trees
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-10
Updated: 2011-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t





	Fic:  XLR, Neon Trees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [were_duck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/were_duck/gifts).



_**Fic: XLR, Neon Trees**_  
 **Title** : XLR  
 **Fandom** : Neon Trees  
 **Pairing** : Tyler Glenn, solo  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **Warnings** : autoerotic asphyxiation, masturbation  
 **Author's Notes** : This is for [](http://were-duck.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**were_duck**](http://were-duck.dreamwidth.org/) , who posts inspirational picspams and needs a break from studying. Betaed by [](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/profile)[**hangemhigh27**](http://hangemhigh27.livejournal.com/). Posted as a dual gift: one from me, one from [](http://dapatty.livejournal.com/profile)[**dapatty**](http://dapatty.livejournal.com/) , whose fic is [All Tied Up](http://dapatty.livejournal.com/77777.html). (XLR cables are the ones you use for microphones, as opposed to quarter-inch jacks or RCA cables or what-have-you.)

It was a rare pleasure -- two hours of privacy, and Tyler was going to use every minute of it. He’d been thinking about it all day--what it would be like to put up the Do Not Disturb sign, close the door, throw down his duffel and strip. He’d clean up and shower later, pick up his stupid socks and wash behind his ears and be nice and be social and call home and check on scheduling and have a balanced meal and get six hours of sleep... but right now, right now he was going to take off every stitch. When his clothes were in a pile by the door, he leaned back against it, the veneer cool against the shaved part of his scalp. He sighed with anticipation, licked his palm, and reached down, groaning gratefully at the firm heaviness that filled his hand, how _good_ it was to jerk off after a day of thinking about it, how long he’d waited to have a decent time span so he could actually do this. He let his eyes close, the soothing sound of skin on skin echoing as he stood in the entryway.

 _I could come like this_ , Tyler thought, and the realization made him open his eyes again, made him let go. He bit his lip, crouching down to open his duffel, and groped in the bottom for something that wasn’t always waiting. Sometimes he didn’t even put it in his bag because it was too tempting. A little black soft gig bag. Heavy. He opened the zipper, wrapped his fingers around the 20-foot XLR cable inside, and pulled it out. With his other hand, he fumbled for the only other thing in the gig bag, a battered old microphone. The mesh was dented, the logo had worn off, it was scratched and heavy and a little sticky in one spot from where the electrical tape hadn’t all come off when he’d fixed the switch ten years ago. It was the first thing he’d ever bought on his own for his Music Career, back when he thought of it in capital letters because sometimes it seemed like the best way to denote that something was really important but hard to define. It had finally given up the ghost a long, long time ago, but it was the perfect weight. He fit it to the cable and moved to the middle of the room, between the two beds, automatically checking with a quick glance what he’d knock down if he wasn’t careful. Then he realized he didn’t care. He held the cord, gave the base of his impatient cock a tight squeeze. _Soon,_ he reassured himself. This was going to have to last him a month, so the least he could do was not rush it.

He let go, got the tail of the cord in one hand and a decent length in the other, gave it a slow, easy spin, tensed his neck hard and lifted his chin, waited for air-cooled rubber to snap against his skin and wrap like a snake, waited for the hard thump of the mic after it, let out a pleased grunt when each sensation came. He lifted his left hand to his neck, relaxing, fingering the loops of cord and reaching down with his right hand to palm his cock, a little sticky now.

“Fuck,” he whispered, soft and drawn-out. Okay, it was time already. He tugged the cable loose impatiently, unwrapped it, and doubled it over so the microphone and the loose connector hung next to each other. He got the middle of the doubled cord in his fists, lifted it up to his neck, pulled it up under his chin, pulled a little harder, felt the pressure on his windpipe sharp and perfect, too perfect, dangerous and so, so sweet.

It was definitely time. He draped the ends of the cord behind his shoulders, careful not to tangle them, and got a grip on all four strands, his left hand behind his back. He pulled once, with just his left hand, feeling the tug, low, under his Adam’s apple. He swallowed, relishing the light spike of it, the heady thrumming in his veins. He reached back, got both hands on the cord, pulled harder, felt the hot rush he always got when he knew that was it, no room, no breath, it was well and truly cut-off. He held himself like that, just for a little while, then let go, didn’t even let things get fuzzy around the edges. He couldn’t wait any longer, and when he got his hand back on his dick it was so hard he groaned. He kept the strands in his left fist, just tight enough to make it hard to breathe, licked his palm one more time, tasting the old cord, and started stroking, low but fast around the shaft of his cock. Usually he held his breath when he was getting close, but now he fought to remind himself not to hold it, to keep breathing so he could feel how it was difficult, so he could feel his windpipe trying to stay open against the cable. Just thinking about it got him close, and he could have stopped. He could have let go and played around a little more, could have pulled the cord around himself any number of ways, but there was only one way this was going to go and he was doing it, his gasps turning a little raspy from how tightly he was holding on. He was doing it now, jerking so his thumb grazed the head of his cock, his fist tight around his shaft, his left forearm throbbing from keeping the tension on the cord in this position, panting to get the one last gasp he allowed himself before pulling hard with his left hand and jerking fast with his right, and he was coming the edges of his face feeling a little cold and prickly, his toes hurting because he’d been up on them for so long, but he was coming, seeing stars and letting go with a quiet, satisfied cry. He leaned forward, letting the cord fall off, and fell heavily onto the nearest bed with the kind of boneless, untroubled satisfaction he probably got too often but it felt like not enough, never enough.

Tyler groaned contentedly. In five minutes, he’d get up, clean up, put things back. But right now, it was just him, sweat cooling on his skin, and a loop of cable he’d hooked his come-wet fingers around. Everything else could wait for five minutes.  



End file.
